My favourite winter job in the garden is MULCHING. Just the word is delightful. Like squelching, but warmer and snugglier.
I am a ‘colour pop’ kind of a girl. But occasionally, with a light frost, I am forced to focus on the neutrals. With the aid of my new book all about colour, I can now distinguish my buff from my fawn!
Let’s celebrate those who dare to be different. Who let their madness shine through. Who receive a frosty reception but do it anyway.
A post about how the dark times we go through help us to appreciate the moments of lightness…
There is something about walking together. The rhythmic pounding and arm swinging. You fall into step and emotionally attune to one another. There is nothing forced about it; it just happens.
I remember finding the image of Miss Haversham rather thrilling. Her abandon of social convention. Her total neglect of housework. Her cunning.
Being outdoors, pottering in the garden, listening to the birds, noticing colours and textures and patterns, enjoying a cup of tea… These are all forms of self-care. They are nurturing for my soul. Self-care brings clarity. I am refreshed, and can see things more clearly.
Sissinghurst in October is a gentle place. There is space for quiet contemplation and restoration of the spirits.
This post is an homage to my No.1 favourite planting combination in my garden. It is also a celebration of strong women supporting one another, celebrating one another, and giving one another a leg up.
The light in September is soft. Rosa ‘Roald Dahl’ is like melting butter. The greens are sober: sage and jade. They provide the perfect foil for the fewer flowers in the rose garden.
Sunlight is transformative. Petals and leaves become translucent and their network of veins are revealed. The fine down on stems and buds are illuminated. Sunlight is a transitory and elusive quality in the garden. Which is perhaps why it is so magical.
A post about fragility, being gentle, and holding on.